Hearts That Hold
by CowgirlMile1
Summary: When Abby's mother is diagnosed with a terminal illness, Abby must make peace with her mother--and herself. Part II now posted.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Hearts that Hold: Desperately Lonely, Part 1/4  
  
AUTHOR: Alyssa  
  
DATE: November 14th, 2001  
  
CATEGORY: Abby angst (as usual :)  
  
SPOILERS: Well...very, very mild spoiler for episode six of season 8...nothing that will ruin your ER enjoyment if you haven't seen the episode already. And spoilers for the end of season seven.  
  
Please review!  
  
With prayers for Jack, Jeremy, and their families. We miss you.  
  
Hearts That Hold: Desperately Lonely  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The tears came to her eyes, and she struggled to keep her voice from cracking. "You don't have to settle for anything, Carter," she said flatly, putting the slightest bit of emphasis on settle, just as he had.  
  
He didn't follow her. She didn't expect him to. And by his not doing so, she knew he had meant what he said, as Luka had, as Richard had. He didn't want her. He'd never wanted her. No one had ever wanted her.  
  
It was chilly, but she continued walking, towards the apartment she'd worked so hard to make into a home. She hadn't succeeded. In fact, she resented it, resented living there. Every time she walked into the brightly lit, painstakingly decorated condominium, she was overwhelmed by suffocating blankets of loneliness.  
  
A normal person would cry, but the tears wouldn't fall now that she'd held them back. And it was because, she realized, she didn't love Carter. She didn't have a crush on him, she didn't want a relationship with him: she never had. The truth was, she was just desperately lonely. And desperately afraid of being alone.  
  
Carter was right, as usual. There was too much history. She had too much history. Too much baggage. And it was becoming too heavy for her to carry.  
  
And, of course, Luka was right, too. She needed help. She just couldn't accept it. Couldn't ask for it.  
  
She'd stood by that river, staring at Carter, and repeated the pattern, repeated what she'd always done. And while she knew her pattern well, knew it led to heartbreak and pain, she couldn't seem to avoid it. In truth, heartbreak and pain was all she knew-she wouldn't know what to make of happiness, because she'd just never seen it.  
  
She opened the door to her apartment-it stuck again-and felt herself being wrapped in loneliness like a dark cloak. She nearly backed out the way she'd come in-but that wouldn't solve anything. She'd still be alone. She'd still be unhappy.  
  
The ultrasound picture was where it had always been, tucked in the drawer beside her bed, buried under a pile of pens, long-ago letters, and small trinkets. She sank onto the bed, holding the picture in her hand. It was unlabeled, in case someone found it, and looking at it nearly always made the feelings of grief and fear flood back tenfold. But she couldn't bear to part with it-it was her only link to what could have been.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said for the umpteenth time to the small black and white print-out. She'd had many long and emotional conversations with this little photograph, this person who could not even be made out as a person- just a small white blip on a shiny black background.  
  
Abby Lockhart clutched the photograph to her heart, and looked up to heaven. "I need help," she whispered to the baby she'd given up long ago. "Please help me."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"No soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence. What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?" -- George Eliot  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Hello?" Abby stuck the phone between her ear and shoulder and moved back to the open refrigerator.  
  
"Hi, Abby," a familiar voice said. Abby froze. "It's Mom."  
  
"I know," she said, sinking down to the tile floor. "Hi."  
  
"How are you?" Maggie said conversationally. Her voice sounded weird, far away. Abby wondered if she was still on her meds. Oh, please, God.  
  
"I'm okay," Abby sighed, twisting the phone cord around her finger and clutching an ice-cold glass of water in her other hand. She didn't mention her break-up with Luka, or the ruination of her friendship with Carter. She didn't need her mother knowing the intimate details of her life.  
  
"Abby," her mother said nervously. "I, um, I haven't been feeling well lately." Abby frowned, wondering where this was going. "I went to the doctor a couple days ago because I've just-well, I've been feeling really sick, and I thought there might be a problem with my meds or something." She had to stay on the meds. No matter what, no matter how sick they made her, she had to stay on those damn medications. "They ran some tests and." She paused for a long second, and Abby held her breath. "Abby, I have pancreatic cancer."  
  
The glass slipped out of Abby's hand and shattered on the ground. "Abby?" Maggie said nervously. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Y-you have pancreatic cancer?" Abby managed, her heart stopping.  
  
"Yeah," Maggie said sadly, quietly.  
  
Abby struggled to breathe. "What did the doctor say?" she managed, closing her eyes tightly. She could feel a headache forming.  
  
"He said the disease is very advanced," Maggie said slowly. "I," she choked. "Abby, he said I have only a couple months to live."  
  
Abby leaned her head against the refrigerator. "But what about treatment?" she said desperately. "What about-what about chemo? Or radiation, or surgery? Isn't there anything they can do?"  
  
"Abby," Maggie said bravely. "I'm dying. There's nothing they can do."  
  
"But-but, Mom, they could give you a few more months. You could-you could."  
  
"Abby." The tears welled in her eyes as her mother said her name gently. "Abby, there's nothing they can do."  
  
"Oh, Mom," Abby whispered.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Come home, Mom. Please."  
  
"You mean-go back to Chicago?" Maggie said uncertainly.  
  
"Please," Abby managed. "Please. Come back here. Come home."  
  
"I don't know, Abby."  
  
"I just-I." She was losing the battle against break down. "I need you, Mom. I want to talk to you. I want you to come home. And I-" Game, set, and match, hysteria. "I don't want you to die alone," she gasped.  
  
"Oh, baby," Maggie said. Wept. "Okay. Okay."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Abby!" Carter called as she walked swiftly out of the hospital. "Abby! Wait up!" She didn't turn around, didn't stop and wait, but he caught her fairly easily. Damn short legs. "Hey," he said, falling into step beside her.  
  
"Hey," she said vaguely, hugging herself against the mid-November chill. She didn't look at him.  
  
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. She wasn't making this easy. "Do you want to go for coffee or something?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Look, Abby." He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She complied, but hung her head, and refused to make eye contact. "We need to talk."  
  
"No, we don't."  
  
"Obviously we do."  
  
"I don't have time," she said, and tried to walk away, but he stopped her.  
  
"Abby, I'm sorry," he said. Her eyes focused on the concrete beneath her. "I wish you'd let me explain."  
  
"This has nothing to do with you, Carter," she said. For a second, her eyes met him, and she saw hurt in his eyes. She took a deep breath, turned and strode toward the El, and this time, he didn't prevent her from leaving.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Abby unlocked the door to her apartment. "Mom," she called softly, in case her mother was sleeping. Maggie had been living with her for a week now, and she looked awful. Between the cancer that was ravaging her body and the Depakote she doggedly continued taking, she didn't have the energy for much more than eating and sleeping.  
  
"Hi!" Maggie called from the living room. Abby walked in there and smiled at finding her sitting up on the couch, reading a book.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Better," Maggie said, closing the book. "I-my headache's gone, and my stomach feels a little better."  
  
"That's good," Abby said, sinking onto the chair across from her mother. "Are you hungry?"  
  
Maggie thought for a second, and then nodded. "Yeah, kind of, actually."  
  
"Do you want to go out for dinner?" Abby suggested, unbuttoning her jacket. "We could go to that Italian place you like on Claremont."  
  
"Abby, you don't have to spend all your time with me," Maggie said gently.  
  
"I want to."  
  
"Why don't you go out with Luka tonight," she said kindly.  
  
Because Luka thought she was a spineless, conniving, bitchy, ugly whore. Abby stared at her hands. "Um, Luka and I broke up," she muttered.  
  
She could feel Maggie frowning at her. "When?"  
  
Before they'd ever gotten together, really. "A couple months ago," Abby said vaguely, eyes still tracing the lifelines of her palms.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Because she was incapable of communication and-well-happiness. Abby shrugged, then stood up. "I don't really want to talk about it, okay?"  
  
Maggie looked disappointed, but nodded. "All right. Okay." There was a long pause. "So, that Italian place?"  
  
Abby nodded, and pasted the smile back on her face. "Just let me get changed," she said.  
  
"Why don't you invite John along then?" Maggie suggested cheerfully. "I haven't seen him in quite a while."  
  
Because John was just as messy as Luka. Abby bit her lip, mind racing. "He's, uh, he's working tonight," she said by way of an excuse. "Maybe we'll see him another time though."  
  
"You're not dating him now, are you?" Maggie asked wryly.  
  
Why was Maggie so perceptive? And why had Abby failed to inherit that trait? She laughed stiffly. "No," she said. "Why?"  
  
"Just seemed he was next in line," Maggie clarified, eyes twinkling.  
  
For a mentally disabled woman, she was very, very smart.  
  
Abby stared at her incredulously for a second, then finally laughed, a genuine laugh, for the first time in what seemed like months. "Mom!"  
  
Maggie stood up, grinning. "Go change!" she said. "I'm hungry!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"So, how was your day?" Maggie asked conversationally as the two women reached simultaneously for the bread basket that had been placed between them.  
  
It sucked. "Pretty good," Abby said, methodically buttering the warm roll. She considered elaborating on that statement, then decided against it. "Pretty good," she repeated.  
  
"Save any lives?" Maggie asked, slicing open her own roll.  
  
"No."  
  
"Can't save 'em all," Maggie offered, not without a touch of irony.  
  
"I never save lives," Abby said thinly.  
  
"That's not true," her mother countered. "I've seen you save lives before."  
  
"I'm not a doctor," she mumbled, stuffing a chunk of bread into her mouth.  
  
"I know you don't have to be a doctor to save lives," Maggie said pointedly, her dark brown eyes focusing on her daughter's impassive face. "And, Abby, you are just as good as a doctor. How many more years of medical school do you have left?"  
  
Abby rubbed her forehead and took a deep breath. "One," she said softly, looking directly at her mother.  
  
Maggie smiled in encouragement. "Why don't you go back then?"  
  
"Well, I don't really have time now, do I?" Abby replied, rummaging through her purse. She needed Advil. Immediately. "I mean, I'd still need to do nursing shifts to make money, and I'd never be home to see you."  
  
"I could help you with the money," Maggie offered firmly.  
  
Abby looked at her judgmentally. "How are you going to do that, Mom? Huh? You don't have money. And you can't go back to work."  
  
"Abby, if you really wanted to do it, we could work something out. If you want to be a doctor-and I know you do-than you'll find a way to make it happen."  
  
"I couldn't go back till September, anyway," Abby muttered. She took a big gulp of water and stuffed the painkillers in her mouth.  
  
"So you have plenty of time to think about it," Maggie said, with an air of finality.  
  
Abby nodded. "I'll think about it," she promised. She didn't feel like fighting. Not now.  
  
Their food came, and they made small talk over plates of pasta and vegetables. Abby played with her food, getting more and more nauseous as she regarded the seemingly-growing pile of linguini.  
  
"Not hungry?" Maggie wondered, taking a bite of a steamed carrot.  
  
Abby looked up guiltily. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Doesn't matter," Maggie said, shaking her head. "You feel okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Abby said, setting down her fork. "Oh, yeah, I'm just.I'm just tired. And I had too much bread."  
  
"I warned you about that," Maggie laughed in a motherly tone.  
  
Abby nodded. "I know."  
  
The soft glow of candles on a chocolate cheesecake passed their table, trailed by the sounds of tone-deaf voices: "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you."  
  
Mother and daughter watched the passel of waiters go by. "Remember your ninth birthday?" Maggie asked with a smile.  
  
Abby frowned, thinking, then grinned. "Yeah," she said. "We went to Bertolini's."  
  
Maggie nodded. "Eric asked the waiters not to sing. He thought they were embarrassing you."  
  
Abby chuckled. "And then I got up and told him that on his birthday he could do whatever he wanted, but on my birthday, I wanted them to sing to me." She smiled happily. "He was six," she added dreamily. "He had chocolate cake all over his face."  
  
"He cried cause he didn't get birthday presents," Maggie chimed in.  
  
"You got me a diary," Abby remembered. "With those colored pens. And make- up. You got me my first make-up set."  
  
"And do you remember going to the lake after?" Maggie asked earnestly. "Going ice-skating?"  
  
"Yeah," Abby laughed, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled Eric falling to the ice and indignantly announcing that he was a good athlete, he just couldn't ice skate! "Eric waddled around the lake." She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I'd forgotten about that," she admitted. She met her mother's eyes, and knew what Maggie was thinking. "You're right," she sighed.  
  
"Right about what?"  
  
"That I dwell on the bad memories."  
  
"It wasn't all bad," Maggie said gently. "We did have some good times."  
  
Abby nodded, her face falling. The good times were over. They'd been over for a long time.  
  
"It's hard to think of the good times," Maggie admitted. "I know it is. I know there were a lot of bad times. And it's human nature to remember the bad over the good."  
  
Abby stared at her. When had her mother become so wise?  
  
"I don't want you to remember only the bad, Abby," Maggie continued firmly. "When I'm gone." Abby opened her mouth to interrupt, but her mother held up a hand. "We can't pretend it's not happening, sweetheart. We can't pretend I'm going to be here forever." She smiled sadly. "I know it wasn't easy, and I don't expect you to forgive me, or forget everything that happened. But I hope that's not all you remember." Abby rubbed her temples. Was it too soon to take another Advil? "We survived. We're okay." Well, she'd gotten the survival part right. "Do you think you will, Abby?" her mother said earnestly. "Remember any of the good stuff?"  
  
Abby managed a weak smile. "Yeah," she said, her voice shaking. "Of course."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"A retentive memory may be a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness." --Elbert Hubbard  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Abby stood outside the ambulance bay doors, dragging hard on her cigarette. The wind played with her hair and chilled her through the thin scrub jacket, but she didn't move. Her mind was focusing on her mother, and what she'd asked of her the previous night. "Please try to remember the good, Abby," she'd begged as they left the restaurant. "That's what I want you to remember about me."  
  
The truth was, Abby had forgotten the good a long time ago. There was so little of it-and the few happy times Abby could remember were usually tainted by something terrible and painful, like the pancake breakfast she'd shared with her father that had culminated in his telling her that he loved her very much, but he had to leave.  
  
Many of Abby's worst memories were her own fault, or at least, not her mother's-the abortion, alcoholism, her marriage to Richard. If she were perfectly honest with herself-a thing she liked to be, whenever possible- she'd admit that her mother wasn't to blame for everything. She'd decided of her own free will to drink. She'd made up her own mind to marry Richard. And as for the abortion-well, it wasn't really something she liked to think about.  
  
She took another gulp of nicotine, relaxing as it filled her lungs. Don't think about it, she reminded herself. She'd gone five years without thinking about it. No reason to start now.  
  
Of course, that was another lie. She thought about it every minute, every day. Every time she saw a baby, or a pregnant woman, or a mother. Every time she saw the ultrasound picture. Every time she saw Richard.  
  
Every time she saw Luka.  
  
So much for being honest with herself.  
  
"Abby?" Luka's soft Croatian voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you okay?"  
  
She jumped and turned to look at him, hoping she didn't appear as torn up as she felt. "Yeah. Fine."  
  
He gazed at her for a long moment, and she turned uncomfortably. "You sure?"  
  
"Yeah. Of course."  
  
"What's with you lately?" he asked gently. Abby looked back and frowned, but his face wasn't prying or sarcastic. It was-well, worried, actually.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked guardedly.  
  
He shrugged. "You've just seemed a little out of it. Not talking, avoiding everyone." He gestured to her cigarette. "Smoking a lot."  
  
She considered telling him about her mother's illness, but decided against it. The last thing she wanted was everybody knowing, and the inevitable concern that came with it. She didn't need Luka asking if she was okay, asking how her mother was feeling. "Yeah, well," she said vaguely.  
  
She could feel Luka's eyes studying her face. "How's your mother?"  
  
Her cheeks paled. How did he know? She searched his expression, but he looked completely innocent. "She's still on her meds," she offered. At least that part was true.  
  
Luka nodded. "Have you seen her lately?"  
  
"Yeah." A few hours ago. "She's--" dying-"Doing okay."  
  
"Why don't you come back inside?" he said. "I need your help with a patient."  
  
Abby took one last puff of smoke, then stamped out her cigarette. "Okay."  
  
They walked through the ambulance bay doors together, in awkward silence. Abby's mind raced. Why couldn't she tell Luka? Why did it matter?  
  
She didn't have a reason, except that maybe, just this time, she wanted to stand on her own two feet. She didn't want help, and she didn't want pity. For once, she needed to help her mother without someone standing behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. She had only a few weeks left, and somehow, she had to make up for thirty years.  
  
Once again, a voice interrupted her thoughts, but this time, it was a far less welcome one. "Luka," Nicole's perky French accent called. "I wanted to ask you something."  
  
Luka looked apologetically at Abby. "It's okay," she said weakly. "I'll go start the IV."  
  
"Curtain two," he said. "Sorry."  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
She walked toward curtain two, stopping to look back over her shoulder. Luka was still watching her.  
  
She looked away quickly and headed directly for the exam room.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Abby's cell phone rang as she stood in the ambulance bay, smoking yet another cigarette. She was on her second pack of the day, but the smoke filling her lungs did not have its usual calming effect.  
  
"Hello?" she said wearily, pulling up the antenna on the small device.  
  
"Hey, Abby," a familiar voice said. Her face relaxed into a grin. "What's up?"  
  
"Eric," she said gratefully. "Hi."  
  
"Thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you?" he joked.  
  
"I figured you've been busy." She dropped the cigarette, crushing it with her heel. "I understood."  
  
"Hang on just a sec." She heard him shouting to someone in the background. "Yeah, tonight.no, Tuesday.morning, but I'll be back Monday night. Can I.? Okay.Sorry, Abby."  
  
"That's okay. Where are you?"  
  
"At the base. But.how are you?"  
  
Abby's knees shook a little. "I'm okay."  
  
"You don't sound okay," Eric said doubtfully. Her little brother was the only one who never fell for even her smallest lies. They knew each other too well, had seen each other through too much pain and agony.  
  
"There's a lot going on," she said, her voice weary.  
  
There was a long silence. "Abby, I'm flying in to O'Hare tonight."  
  
She'd never been so happy. "You can get leave? Oh, Eric, that's great. Mom'll be so happy to see you! And I can-oh, how long can you stay?"  
  
"Abby," he said, his voice serious. "I'm shipping out on Tuesday."  
  
Abby's face went numb. She'd feared this, dreaded this, had nightmares about this, ever since he joined the Air Force. "Sh-shipping out where?" she stuttered.  
  
"Afghanistan," he said, and laughed ruefully. "Somewhere around there. Get those bastards."  
  
Her heart seemed to stop. "Oh, Eric."  
  
"I'm coming to say good-bye," he said softly. "I don't-I don't know when I'm going to be back. But it." He paused and took a deep, shuddery breath. "It might not be for a while. She's not.she's not going to.is she?"  
  
"No," Abby whispered. "She doesn't have much longer."  
  
He cleared his throat. "Can you pick me up from the airport? I'm supposed to arrive at--" she heard papers shuffling-"7:39, your time."  
  
She cleared her throat and pressed her palms against her eyes. "Yeah, uh," she managed, sniffling hard. "I'll, uh, I'll be there."  
  
"Okay," he said. "I'll see you then."  
  
"Yeah," she said. "See you then."  
  
Slowly, shakily, she pressed the 'OFF' button on her phone, pushed the antenna down. She leaned her head against the brick wall of the hospital, and ran a hand through her hair. "Abby!" Carter yelled from the ambulance bay doors. She turned to look at him, quickly composing her face. "MVA, van versus motorcycle, we need you."  
  
Abby stuffed her cell phone in her pocket and ran for the doors. Carter gave her a funny look as she walked past him. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine," she said for what must have been the millionth time, reaching for gloves at the admit desk. "I'm fine."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are." --Arthur Golden  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	2. Hearts That Hold: The Color of Roses

TITLE: Hearts that Hold: The Color of Roses (Part 2/4)  
  
AUTHOR: Alyssa  
  
DATE: November 25th, 2001  
  
CATEGORY: Abby angst (as usual :)  
  
SPOILERS: Well...very, very mild spoiler for episode six of season 8...nothing that will ruin your ER enjoyment if you haven't seen the episode already. And spoilers for the end of season seven.  
  
Please review!  
  
With prayers for Jack, Jeremy, and their families. We miss you.  
  
  
  
Hearts That Hold: The Color of Roses  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Abby paced outside the door of the Starbucks at O'Hare International Airport. She checked her watch again-7:42. Where the hell was he?  
  
Okay. Three minutes late. Give him till 7:44 at least.  
  
Abby had always been a nervous flier, and the recent terrorist hijackings had only served to compound her fear. She watched people stride past her, dragging luggage and boxes. "Mom!" a little girl called. Whined. She carried a purple and pink backpack with her name stitched on it: Gabriella. "I can't carry it!" she cried, bursting into tears. "You're going too fast."  
  
The girl had brown hair, brown eyes, and an angry face. She could have been my daughter, Abby thought, her mind drifting back to the ultrasound photo. Was this what that tiny dot would have grown to look like, if only she'd given it a chance?  
  
"Gabby," the girl's mother sighed. "I'm sorry, but we're going to miss the plane if we don't hurry. You do want to see Grandma and Grandpa, right?"  
  
Would her daughter have wanted to see Grandma? Would her daughter have asked where Grandpa was? Would her daughter have wondered what was wrong with Grandma when she came bouncing into her life one day, bearing gifts and brimming with ideas, and bounced out the next day in a fit of anger and misery? Would her daughter have wondered why Abby cried?  
  
The little family moved on, but Abby let her eyes linger on them.  
  
They disappeared from sight, and she sighed, and leaned her head back against the wall. Quick check of the watch-where the hell was Eric?  
  
7:51. He should be here by now. She was just about to track down a television monitor to find out whether the plane was on time when she heard her name. "Abby!"  
  
She turned around. Thank God. He was standing there, dressed in civilian clothes and holding a blue Air Force bag. "Eric!" She ran into his arms.  
  
"You look tired," he said, holding her away from him.  
  
"I'm okay," she said, averting her eyes slightly. He smiled sadly at this. "Do you, uh, have any other bags?"  
  
"No," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the crowded hallway. "I'm just staying two nights, remember?"  
  
"Right," Abby said softly. She didn't want to remember.  
  
"How's Mom?" Eric asked.  
  
"She's doing okay," Abby told him, nodding as if to convince herself. She leaned her head against her little brother's side, trying to remember when she'd been taller than him. Had she ever  
  
been taller than him? "She'll be happy to see you."  
  
"Did you tell her I was coming?"  
  
"I haven't been home yet," Abby said. "I figured you could surprise her."  
  
They reached Abby's car quickly. "I'll drive," Eric volunteered. She was about to protest, but he looked too determined. "Relax."  
  
Abby nodded, and managed a small smile. "Okay."  
  
He fastened his seatbelt and turned to look at her. "God," he sighed. "You look like hell."  
  
"Stop, Eric," Abby protested, too emotionally drained to think of a comeback.  
  
"Do you have anyone helping you?" he pressed, adjusting the mirror. "That boyfriend of yours?"  
  
"We broke up," Abby said matter-of-factly, her eyes never leaving the windshield. She could feel Eric turn to look at her, could feel the shock on his face. "A couple months ago."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She shrugged. She should have just sent out a memo to all her family members: Luka and Abby have broken up. Abby doesn't want to talk about it. Abby is okay. "I don't know."  
  
"You don't know?" They were pulling out of the airport parking lot, paying the toll at the exit.  
  
"We just-the relationship just wasn't working," she said numbly, eyes focused out the window. "You know? We just grew apart."  
  
"Um-hmmm," Eric said.  
  
She knew he didn't believe her. "It's just-I-I don't know, I just--" It would be nice if she could talk without tripping over her words. "We didn't.communicate very well."  
  
He didn't push her. "Oh," he said softly. He took his hand off the wheel and patted her arm comfortingly.  
  
He understood. He was the only one who ever had. But she'd never told him certain things-the abortion, namely-and she wondered if he had secrets, too.  
  
They pulled up at her building, and she led him upstairs to the apartment. "Abby," Eric said, stopping her as she went to unlock the door. "Does she- is she." He bit his lip. "Is there anything I should expect?"  
  
Abby rubbed her forehead. "She looks okay," she said honestly. "She's- she's tired a lot, and she doesn't eat much. She's also in a lot of pain, but, otherwise." She smiled wearily. "She looks fine. It's okay."  
  
"Has she said anything about me?" he asked. Abby frowned. "I mean, we haven't spoken since she ran back here last year."  
  
"She's not gonna be mad at you," Abby assured him. "It's not going to matter."  
  
Eric nodded. "Okay."  
  
She turned the key. "Mom!" she called pushing open the door. "I'm home!"  
  
"Where have you been?" her mother's voice called. She walked into the living room. "I thought you'd be home at-oh, God."  
  
"Hi, Mom," Eric said nervously.  
  
Her face melted into a tragic smile. "Oh, Eric."  
  
Abby watched them embrace, oddly numb. She felt as if she should be crying, but she couldn't. It just didn't feel real.  
  
Her mother couldn't die. She just couldn't.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside of us while we live." --Norman Cousins  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Life gives us magic and life gives us tragedy, everyone suffers sometimes.  
  
Abby stirred the rice simmering in the pot on her stove, hoping she hadn't added too much water. She'd never quite mastered cooking, at least not the kind she was attempting right now, so `gourmet' meals were usually trial and error with her.  
  
Still we have faith in it, childlike hope: there's a reason that outweighs the cost.  
  
She hummed the tune, reaching for the crushed red pepper and adding a liberal amount-a very liberal amount-to her Thai noodle dish, jumping back as the oil splattered slightly.  
  
But gravity throws all these rules in our way, and sometimes the spirit refuses to play.  
  
The music became softer, and Abby glanced irritatedly toward the stereo. Eric. Of course. She made a face at him. "Leave it!"  
  
"Depressing, much?"  
  
"I like it."  
  
Only the ones who believe ever see what they dream, ever dream what comes true.  
  
"What are you cooking?" he asked, idling over to stand behind her.  
  
"Flat rice noodles with tofu and chili and basil sauce," Abby said, carefully adjusting the flame on the stove. She surveyed her creation and smiled. "Twenty minutes, it'll be ready."  
  
"You didn't have to do all this."  
  
"I wanted to." She pulled the apron over her head. "How's Mom?"  
  
Oh, Love.Turn me around in your arms, and in this dream we share, let us not miss one kiss.  
  
"She's okay," Eric assured her. "A little tired. She says she's hungry though."  
  
Abby chuckled. "She better be! I have enough food to feed an army."  
  
"I'll eat it, don't worry," he promised. He reached his finger toward the pot of noodles, obviously hoping to get a quick taste, but Abby smacked his hand away. "Last good meal for a while."  
  
Abby's smile faded quickly. "Are you nervous?" she asked, turning to look at him.  
  
"Of course," he sighed. "But I knew this could happen when I joined up. This is what I've trained for, prepared for." He caught Abby's fretful face. "I'll be okay, don't worry about me." He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you going to be okay?"  
  
No. "Yeah," she lied, pasting a smile on her face. He frowned, eyes searching her. "I'll be fine, really."  
  
And add my regrets to the tears in the rain.That's what the color of roses contain.  
  
There was silence as the last notes of the song died away. "You don't have to worry about me, Eric," Abby said, echoing his words. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."  
  
He nodded. "You know, you can ask for help, Abby," he said intensely. "Talk to Luka, talk to your friend Carter."  
  
"Luka and I aren't together anymore," she reminded him, cutting him off abruptly.  
  
There was that deep, searching look again. "Do you love him?"  
  
She glared at him, but he didn't budge. Her eyes broke contact with his. "I don't know," she whispered.  
  
"Maybe give it another chance?"  
  
Yeah, good luck to her and the Boston Red Sox. "Maybe," she said, with an air of finality. She turned back to her pot of noodles. "Why don't you call Mom?" she suggested. "This'll be ready  
  
in a minute."  
  
He patted her hair and nodded. "No problem."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
They spent all of dinner trying to ignore it. Through salads, soup (with homemade wontons), main course (the rice was burnt, but not too badly), ice cream, and coffee, they kept the conversation pleasant, avoiding the inevitable. Abby's cooking was praised. Eric's deployment to Afghanistan was discussed. No one mentioned what they were all thinking-this was their last meal together.  
  
Abby thought of the day before she'd left for college. Maggie had been on her meds, and had cooked them a wonderful dinner. Eric, who was entering his sophomore year of high school, had been angry and sad at the prospect of her leaving. They'd shared childhood memories-happy ones, which made for a relatively short conversation-and discussed the prospects for the future: Abby majoring in nursing. Eric's chances of making the varsity soccer team. Then as now, they  
  
hadn't discussed why the meal had a sad undertone to it.  
  
"Do you need help?" Eric offered, as Abby cleared the plates from the table and carried them to the sink. Maggie remained in her chair, sipping her coffee, watching her children.  
  
"I'm okay," Abby promised, tenuously balancing a plate on her forearm. She'd always known those years of waitressing would pay off.  
  
Eric followed her into the kitchen. "Really," he said. "I can help. I'm all packed, and everything. I don't mind."  
  
"Eric," Abby cut him off. "Your taxi's going to be here in a half hour." He nodded. "Talk to her. Just sit and talk to her." She swallowed hard. "Say good-bye."  
  
He bit his lip. "Okay," he whispered, and squeezed her hand.  
  
Abby hunched over the sink, scrubbing at rice caked pots and trying not to listen to the conversation wafting in from the room behind her. She heard the essentials: tales of childhood. Tense laughter.  
  
She checked her watch. Eric's cab would be here in five minutes. She'd offered to drive him to the airport, but he'd refused to let her. Said he didn't want her driving home by herself in the middle of the night. She walked slowly into the dining room.  
  
Maggie and Eric were sitting across the table from each other, a sad silence between them. Abby watched for a moment, her heart aching. "Eric," she said softly. He jumped, and turned to look at her. "Your taxi's going to be here in a couple minutes."  
  
He nodded, then looked back at his mother. "Guess this is it."  
  
Maggie smiled weakly. "I guess it is."  
  
Both stood up and walked toward each other awkwardly. Eric wrapped his arms around Maggie, holding her to him tightly. "I love you," he whispered. "No matter what has happened before-I love you."  
  
Abby backed up, leaning against a wall, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Her heart caught in her throat as she thought of her own good-bye to her mother-it wasn't too far off.  
  
"I'm sorry for everything," Maggie cried into his chest. "I never meant to hurt you."  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Eric promised, rubbing her back gently. "You did your best. And we're okay. Everything turned out okay."  
  
Abby rubbed her wet eyes, knowing that neither Maggie or Eric truly believed that. None of them were okay, none of them had ever been okay. But right now, that didn't matter.  
  
"Please don't hate me," Maggie wept, her voice muffled. "I don't want you to hate me. I know you have every right to, but.I just hope you won't be angry when you remember me."  
  
"I won't," he assured her, his voice shaking. Abby hugged herself tightly, watching them. I don't want you to remember only the bad. "I love you, Mom." He pulled Maggie away from him, and kissed her on the forehead.  
  
Abby sidled quietly out of the room, and took Eric's bag out of her bedroom, where he'd left it. "I love you so much," Maggie sobbed. "And I've always been so proud of you."  
  
"I love you," Eric repeated. He choked hard. "Good-bye."  
  
Maggie watched as he walked out of the apartment, crying softly. "I'm going to walk him down to the front, Mom," Abby said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'll be right back."  
  
Abby caught up to him on the landing. "Eric," she called.  
  
He stopped and turned around. "Did you ever think it would happen this way?" he whispered. "I mean, did you ever think this would be the way it ended?"  
  
She rubbed her eyes again, and shook her head. "No," she said quietly. She hadn't thought either of them would cry when their mother died.  
  
Eric took some deep, hard breaths, composing himself. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked, taking his bag off her shoulder.  
  
"You've already asked me that," she reminded him, tucking her hair behind her ear.  
  
He nodded. "Right." He met her eyes, offering a tight smile. "It's just- this is hard."  
  
Understatement of the millennium. "I know," she said, then laughed slightly. "I know."  
  
There was a loud honk from outside. "That's my taxi," Eric said. He leaned over and hugged Abby hard. "Take care of yourself," he whispered.  
  
"You, too," she said.  
  
He pecked her on the cheek, and was gone. Abby slumped against the railing, reality hitting her like a sledgehammer. Her brother was going to war, and might never return.  
  
Shoulders slumped, she walked back into her apartment, where her mother was slowly dying.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was raining-a normal, Chicago rain, pounding and unrelenting, sending everyone in its path in search of shelter. Abby sat at the desk in the staff lounge, a cup of rapidly cooling coffee in her  
  
hands, watching the window.  
  
Her mind wandered to her mother, resting at home. She'd gotten significantly worse in the days since Eric had left, and Abby had convinced her to begin taking the morphine prescribed by her doctor in an effort to relieve the pain that was eating away at her.  
  
She glanced down at the chart in front of her. The patient's birthdate caught her eye: January 8th, 1945. Three days before her mother's. Her heart sank, realizing how far away January 11th was-Maggie probably wouldn't make it to her 57th birthday.  
  
Abby reached over and picked up the phone, dialing the number to her apartment. "Hello?" her mother's voice, tired and weak, answered. Abby instantly regretted calling, wondering if Maggie had been asleep. For some inexplicable reason, she'd just really wanted to talk to someone.  
  
"Hi, Mom," she said, trying to sound upbeat. "Did I wake you?"  
  
Talk to `someone.' There were a million people in this hospital-friends, coworkers, patients.psychiatrists.  
  
"No," Maggie assured her. "I was just going through some of my old stuff."  
  
"Oh," Abby said lightly. "How are you feeling?"  
  
The all-purpose question. The one they asked each other to avoid the tougher questions: are you scared? Why is this happening? And of course, the one that had no question mark, the one that was just a simple statement, a single word. Future.  
  
"I'm okay," Maggie said.  
  
The all-purpose answer. The one they gave each other to avoid hurting each other: I'm terrified. I'm in pain. I don't know how to talk to you. I don't know how to love you.  
  
"Do you still have some pills left?" Abby asked earnestly. "I can refill your prescription at the pharmacy if you want."  
  
"No, it's okay," her mother replied. That word again. Okay. They used it interchangeably with fine. Good. Nice. Cover-up words.  
  
Words that hid the truth. "I have plenty left." There was a long silence, comfortable and familiar. "Are you working?"  
  
"Yeah," Abby sighed, running her hand through her hair. She thought of past years, when work had been an escape from problems with her mother. Now, all she wanted was to be home.  
  
Work had its own problems.  
  
One was walking through the door of the lounge.  
  
Luka froze upon seeing her sitting at the desk. "Hi," he said awkwardly.  
  
"Hi," she said softly.  
  
"Abby, you can go back to work," her mother said in her ear, her voice considerably more energetic than it had been at the beginning of the call.  
  
"No, it's okay," Abby said. "I want to talk to you."  
  
"Go back to work," Maggie ordered. "I'll see you when you get home. What time are you off?"  
  
"Seven," Abby sighed. She glanced at her watch. Only 2:00. "All right," she said, with mock exasperation. "I'll see you later."  
  
"I'll see you tonight," Maggie promised. "Have a good afternoon."  
  
"You, too," she said softly. She snuck a glance at Luka, who was making a fresh pot of coffee and pretending not to listen to her conversation. "I love you," she added quickly, and hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she stood up with her coffee mug and headed for the sink, pouring the remainder of her cold drink down the drain. She could feel Luka's eyes on her. "What?"  
  
"Nothing," he said, an amused smirk on his face.  
  
She rubbed her forehead, knowing what he was thinking. "That was my mom," she said, in a sudden burst of honesty, reaching for the coffee pot.  
  
He nodded, not believing her.  
  
"Oh, stop it," she snapped, heading toward the refrigerator for cream.  
  
"You're seeing your mom later?" he asked, bemused and skeptical. A little too pushy for her tastes.  
  
"Yes," she said. Shouted. "I am. Got a problem with that?" She slammed the refrigerator door shut.  
  
Luka shook his head. "No. I just thought you didn't talk to her very often since she moved back to Milwaukee."  
  
Abby shrugged pointedly, pouring a generous helping of cream into her mug. "You thought wrong."  
  
Luka pursed his lips in that infuriating way of his. "Okay."  
  
She slammed her cup down, sloshing coffee over the sides. Grief enveloped her heart and mind, projecting itself as anger. "Could you stop being so patronizing?" she demanded bitterly.  
  
"You okay?" Luka asked, his tone of voice changing suddenly.  
  
"What do you care?" she yelled. "What does it matter to you? We're not dating. You're not obligated to care. You don't owe me anything. I don't owe you anything!"  
  
"I'm sorry," Luka said, raising his eyebrows. "I just--"  
  
"Yes, I'm fine!" she cried. "I am fine! Could everyone just stop asking that! Just leave me the hell alone!"  
  
He was looking at her with great concern and pity, and it only made her angrier. "Just leave me the hell alone!" she repeated.  
  
"Abby," Luka said, his voice so gentle and comforting, she almost burst into tears.  
  
The door opened, and Carter walked in, stopping in shock when he caught the scene in front of him His eyes moved from Abby to Luka, and back to Abby. She could have sworn there was a smirk on his face. "What's going on?" he said nervously.  
  
"Great," Abby spat. "My life is now complete."  
  
She ran out the door, slamming it behind her. Hard. She made it to the bathroom, kicked the stall door closed, and collapsed onto the tile floor. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to  
  
really cry.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"There is this difference between sorrow and depression-sorrowful, you are in great trouble because something matters so much; depressed, you are miserable because nothing really matters." --J.E. Buckrose  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
  
  
  
Alyssa  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"I wanted it. I lay awake at night wanting it. Hell a man can lie there and want something so bad, and be so full of wanting it he just plain forgets what it is he wants. Just like when you are a boy and the sap first rises and you think you will go crazy some night wanting something and you want it so bad and get so near sick wanting it you near forget what it is. It's something inside you...But wanting it don't make a thing true. You don't have to live forever to figure that out." --Willie Stark, 'All the King's Men.' 


	3. Hearts That Hold: Final Goodbye

TITLE: Hearts that Hold: Final Goodbye (Part ¾)  
  
AUTHOR: Alyssa  
  
DATE: December 11th, 2001  
  
CATEGORY: Abby angst (as usual :)  
  
SPOILERS: Well...very, very mild spoiler for episode six of season 8...nothing that will ruin your ER enjoyment if you haven't seen the episode already. And spoilers for the end of season seven.  
  
Please review!  
  
With prayers for Jack, Jeremy, and their families. We miss you.  
  
Hearts That Hold: Final Goodbye  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge  
  
them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them." --Oscar Wilde  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Mom?" Abby called, pushing open her front door. She shook the rain out of her umbrella in the hallway, brushing excess water droplets off her jacket. Shoving the umbrella into the stand beside the entrance, she peered around the apartment. "Mom?"  
  
"Abby?" her mother said, appearing in front of her. "What are you doing home so early?"  
  
Abby smiled weakly, then offered the lie she'd thought of on the way home. "It was slow, and there weren't a lot of patients, so they sent me home." She didn't mention the part about Weaver catching her having a hysterical break down in the bathroom and ordering her to go home and get some sleep.  
  
Maggie frowned. "You don't have to come home for me, Abby," she sighed. "I'm not dying today!"  
  
"I know," Abby said meekly. "I-don't worry about it." She smiled pleasantly, taking her coat off and hanging it on the rack. "Really raining out there."  
  
"Better than snow," Maggie observed, heading back towards the guest room.  
  
Abby followed her. "What are you doing?" she asked interestedly. The bed was covered with photographs and albums, jewelry and books.  
  
"I was just going through a box of old things I brought with me," Maggie offered, sitting down on one of the only clear spots on the bed. "Pictures and stuff."  
  
Abby picked up a photo and laughed. "Me and Eric," she said, grinning.  
  
"That was Halloween," Maggie chuckled. "You were seven."  
  
"Right after Dad left," Abby sighed. Both their smiles faded.  
  
"Yeah," Maggie said, sounding crushed. She turned back to a photo album that lay open on the pillow.  
  
Abby knelt on the floor and sifted through the pile of mementoes in front of her. A tarnished locket, a beat up copy of The Joy Luck Club, an old, dusty address book. Her eyes landed on a faded photograph. It was of her, at two years old, a huge grin on her face, standing happily between her parents. Her mom was pregnant, and she and her husband both had their arms around Abby.  
  
Abby studied her face. She looked so happy, so carefree. That little girl hadn't worried about mood swings, or how to find food, or cancer. She hadn't envisioned life without Daddy. She hadn't thought about being drunk, or having an abortion. In fact, she carried a doll, meticulously dressed, hair carefully styled: she *wanted* to be a mommy.  
  
Gently, she brushed the dust off the badly colored photo, tracing her fingers along the little girl's face-*her* face. She couldn't get over the smile, the huge, toothy grin that lit up the entire  
  
picture. Both her parents were smiling too, looking-well, *happy.* Loving. Normal.  
  
She alternately envied and pitied the girl. There was a joy about her that Abby couldn't remember ever feeling, and yet, she had no idea what she was about to go through. That little girl had no idea that thirty years later, she'd be miserable, lonely, and watching her mother die.  
  
Abby would give anything to be two-years-old again. To not feel the weight of responsibility and depression on her shoulders. To not feel lonely and unloved. But, with equal passion, she also knew that she'd never, ever do her childhood over again. Because, despite what Maggie said, the bad parts had outweighed the good.  
  
She looked up at her mother, who was digging through a big cardboard box. "Can I keep some of these pictures?"  
  
Maggie shrugged. "You can keep all of them." She glanced up. "Unless Eric wants some of them."  
  
"I'll ask him when he comes home," Abby promised, tucking the thirty-year- old family photograph in her pocket. She raised her eyebrows as Maggie pulled a black leather-bound book out of the box. Her eyes widened. "My diary!"  
  
Her mother laughed. "I didn't know I still had this."  
  
"Did you read it?" Abby asked, staring at the notebook. She'd treated it with incredible care, she recalled, filling it with painstakingly small, neat writing and keeping it in a plastic bag to  
  
prevent the corners from bending.  
  
"No," Maggie assured her. She ran her fingers over the cover. "I wanted to, at one point," she remembered. "After you'd gone to college. I found it, and.well, you were mad at me, and I guess I was mad at you. But I opened it, and on the first page." She opened the book and held it up to Abby. `PRYING EYES NOT WELCOME: READING THIS DAIRY IS PUNISHIBLE BY DEATH!' was scrawled in pink pen on the first cream-colored page. Abby smiled at the childish handwriting, the misspelled words. "Well, I thought I'd better let you keep your secrets," Maggie finished.  
  
Abby nodded, taking the book from her mother. "Thank you," she said.  
  
She paged through the journal as Maggie continued searching through the carton. Without stopping to read, her eyes caught on different things: `Mommy's depressed again, and I don't know what to do.' `Mom didn't come home from work today, and we don't know where she is.  
  
Eric is scared.and so am I.' She didn't notice anything on problems with friends, or school-nothing about boys she liked, or movies she went to, or playing with other girls.  
  
`I hate my mother,' she wrote when she was 14. `I hate when she does this to me. Did she not realize that I would be the one to find her? Did this not occur to her? Does she not realize that I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces? It's just not fair."  
  
"Abby," Maggie said suddenly, urgently. "Can you get me a morphine tablet from the bathroom?"  
  
"Yeah," Abby said, jumping off the bed. "Are you in pain?"  
  
Maggie bit her lip hard, holding her stomach and nodding. Abby ran for the bathroom.  
  
"When was the last time you took one?" she asked, returning in seconds with the bottle of pills and a glass of water.  
  
"Right before you came home," Maggie gasped, tears dripping down her face. Abby was having trouble breathing herself.  
  
"Mom, you're not supposed to take them so close together," Abby said nervously. She scanned the bottle quickly. One every six to eight hours. "How many have you taken today?"  
  
"Four," her mother managed, curling up into a ball.  
  
Abby looked at her watch. It was only 3:30. "Mom, you can't take another one now, you just can't."  
  
"I can't breathe," Maggie whispered, coughing hard.  
  
Abby eased her mother onto the floor and held her tightly. Oh, God. Oh, God. "Okay, Mom, it's going to be okay," she said soothingly, hoping- praying-this wave of pain would pass. "Okay, Mom."  
  
She thought fast, but came up with no ideas. If this were a patient, what would I do? she asked herself.  
  
She didn't know.  
  
"Okay, Mom," she said again. Her mother's eyes were closed, her breathing labored. "Mom?" She shook her hard, but Maggie didn't stir. "Mom!"  
  
Get her to the hospital, her mind told her. Call 911. She lunged for the phone.  
  
Ten minutes later, they were in an ambulance, speeding toward County General. Abby clutched her mother's hand and tried not to think as they raced towards the hospital.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Hope is the feeling you have that the feeling you have isn't permanent." -- Jean Kerr  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The ambulance doors flew open, revealing Luka and Kerry. The paramedic, someone Abby didn't know, gave the bullet. "56-year-old woman with end- stage pancreatic cancer, collapsed at home. Pulse ox is 98 on 20% oxygen, BP is 100/70, pulse 110."  
  
"Abby?" Luka and Kerry gasped simultaneously.  
  
Kerry turned to look at the patient on the gurney, recognition registering on her face. "Let's go to trauma one!" she ordered. "Abby, what happened?" she asked calmly as they pushed the stretcher toward the hospital.  
  
"She said she was in pain," Abby answered, voice cracking. "She just passed out."  
  
"She has pancreatic cancer?" Kerry clarified. Abby nodded weakly. "When was she diagnosed?"  
  
"A month ago," Abby managed as they walked through the trauma room doors.  
  
"Abby, we got this from here," Kerry assured her. Abby stood numbly in the middle of the room, watching Chuny start an IV. "Abby." Her voice was gentle, but Abby couldn't move. "Luka, take her out," Kerry ordered.  
  
"Come on," Luka said softly, taking her by the arm. "Let's go outside."  
  
Abby allowed him to drag her out of the room, never taking her eyes off her mother. Luka closed the doors behind him, and the two stood in the hall, watching the activity in the trauma room through the windows.  
  
"How long has she been living with you?" Luka asked quietly.  
  
"Three weeks," Abby whispered. The nurses and doctors were bustling around her mother, running tests and checking vital signs. Carter appeared in the room, his eyes widening when he saw the patient. He looked at Abby through the window, face communicating sympathy, then  
  
turned back to help.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" he continued gently, his strong hands rubbing her back.  
  
"I didn't want to." Her mother was vomiting, and they rolled her to the side. Abby turned away from the window, covering her mouth with her hand.  
  
Luka wrapped his arms around her tenderly, and she didn't protest. She was way too tired not to cry. "I didn't get to say good-bye," she whispered.  
  
He didn't offer any words of reassurance-there were none to offer. "I'm sorry," he said softly, running his hands up and down her back.  
  
The door opened. "Abby?" Kerry said sadly.  
  
Abby pulled away from Luka and turned her full attention to the chief of the ER. Her expression did not look promising. Her mind searched for a question, but none felt appropriate. How is she? Is she going to wake up? Is she in pain? Instead, she just stared, too grief-stricken and exhausted to formulate words.  
  
"She was dehydrated," Kerry told her. "So, we started an IV. And we're giving her fentanyl."  
  
"Fentanyl?" Abby gasped.  
  
Kerry nodded. "The cancer seems to be spreading. We're getting some x-rays and running a couple tests to see how bad it is."  
  
Abby bit her nail-well, finger-hard as the tears streamed down her face. "Oh, sweetie," Kerry said sympathetically, rubbing her arm. Luka's hands remained on her shoulders, a warm, comforting presence.  
  
"Is she going to wake up?" Abby whispered.  
  
"I don't know," Kerry said honestly.  
  
Abby buried her face in her hands. "I didn't get to say good-bye," she choked. "I-I didn't get to tell her."  
  
"Why don't you go get a cup of coffee," Kerry suggested. "Luka, take her to Doc Magoo's."  
  
"No, I want to stay," Abby protested weakly.  
  
"Abby," Kerry ordered. "Take a break. I will page you if anything happens, I promise."  
  
Luka wordlessly led her across the street to the diner they all frequented. He ordered two coffees and they sat down in a corner booth. Abby wrapped her hands around her cup, waiting for the heat to warm her icy palms.  
  
She glanced up at Luka. He was looking at her with great concern, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry," she managed.  
  
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said softly. "I just wish you'd told me."  
  
"I didn't tell anyone," she mumbled, staring into her black cup of coffee.  
  
"You didn't have to do this alone," Luka continued.  
  
"My brother was here."  
  
"Did he go back to Florida?"  
  
"Afghanistan."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"He's in the Air Force," Abby said shakily. "He was shipped out to Afghanistan for the war. He came up to say good-bye."  
  
"Oh, God, Abby," Luka sighed. "I wish you'd let me help you."  
  
"I don't need help," she said firmly. "I just want to go back, and be with my mother." The emotional walls she'd held together for weeks-years-were crumbling fast, crushing her. "She's dying, Luka," she said, tears falling. "She is dying, and there's nothing I can do." She rubbed her eyes hard. "I'm sorry," she choked. "I just, I always thought I could save her. I thought that she'd try to kill herself, and I could come in and save her, and then it would be okay, and now there's not one damn thing I can do." She shook her head disgustedly. "I can't help her. I can't even help myself."  
  
Luka hesitated for a long moment. "Abby," he said finally, touching her hand gently. "I've always wanted to help you."  
  
"Luka, don't," she wept.  
  
He nodded. "I just want you to know that if you ever need anything-if you ever need to talk, or if you need help, anything.I'm always here."  
  
Abby smiled gratefully through her tears. "Thanks," she whispered. The sound of her pager startled her. She checked the number quickly. "Oh, God."  
  
"The ER?" Luka asked, taking money out of his wallet and leaving it on the table. Abby nodded, reminding herself to breathe. It wasn't necessarily bad news. "Okay. Let's go."  
  
"Luka, what if." she trailed off.  
  
"Abby, she probably just woke up," he assured her. "Kerry said she'd page you if anything happened."  
  
Abby nodded, swallowing hard. "Right."  
  
Her feet felt like lead, and Luka practically had to drag her back into the hospital. Kerry was waiting for them at the ambulance bay doors. "She's awake," Kerry said, and Abby released the breath she'd been holding in.  
  
"Is she okay?" Abby managed.  
  
"Why don't we talk in the lounge?" Kerry suggested.  
  
"Abby, I'll be around if you need me," Luka said, as she followed Kerry toward the lounge.  
  
Abby nodded. "Thanks."  
  
The two women stood in the empty room, a nervous silence between them. Finally, Kerry spoke. "Abby, the cancer has spread significantly."  
  
Abby dug her nails into her palms. "How bad?"  
  
"It's metastasized to her lungs, her liver, her heart," Kerry said softly, shaking her head. Abby pinched the bridge of her nose, her head throbbing. "I'm sorry."  
  
"How much time does she have?" Abby whispered, closing her eyes tightly.  
  
Kerry hesitated. "Not long. A few days, a week maybe."  
  
She'd been expecting that. "Can I take her home?"  
  
"Uh, oncology wanted to admit her," Kerry sighed. "She's in a lot of pain, and they can control it better here."  
  
Advil. She needed Advil. Abby rummaged in her bag, searching for the magic bottle. It was quite possible she was becoming addicted to over-the-counter headache relievers. "Can't I do that at home?" she managed, becoming frustrated at her inability to locate the small vial. "Can't we get a PCA, or something? I can run it, I know how to do it, and." Deep breath. Slow, deep breath. She headed for her locker-there had to be Advil in there, or Tylenol, or Excedrin. Something. "I just wanna take her home," she said shakily. "Please, Kerry."  
  
She located a small bottle of Tylenol in her coat pocket and anxiously shook out two. On second thought-three. She could feel Kerry watching her with concern as she swallowed them dry, but she didn't care.  
  
After a long moment, Kerry nodded slowly. "I'll talk to the oncologist."  
  
Abby nodded gratefully, eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," she choked. "Can I-can I see her?"  
  
"Of course," Kerry said. "She's in trauma one still. I'm going to call oncology and see if we can get a PCA, and then I'll try to get an ambulance to take you home."  
  
"Thanks," Abby whispered, managing a weak smile. "Thanks."  
  
She found her mother lying awake on the gurney, an IV stuck in her hand providing pain medication and a nasal cannula in her nose. She tried to muster a smile as she closed the door carefully. "Hi, Mom."  
  
"Abby," her mother said weakly.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Abby asked, pulling a stool up beside the gurney.  
  
"Kinda tired." Maggie brushed a hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be," Abby said, rubbing her arm gently.  
  
"I never meant to hurt you," Maggie said.  
  
"Please don't worry about that," she said. The Advil wasn't helping. "It doesn't matter anymore."  
  
"I didn't want it to be this way," Maggie said desperately.  
  
"It's not your fault," Abby assured her. "I'm not mad at you."  
  
"I wanna go home, Abby," Maggie cried. "I just want to go home."  
  
Abby smiled sadly. "Me too, Mom."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"It is hard to be strong when someone special leaves your life, and it doesn't get any easier with practice." --Javan  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Do you want something to eat, Mom?" Abby asked, pushing herself into a standing position. They were sitting on her mother's bed, sorting pictures and mementoes. Maggie shook her head. "Why don't you take a nap then? Get some rest, Mom, you look exhausted."  
  
"Abby," Maggie said tiredly, "I have the rest of eternity to get some rest. Right now, I just want to talk to you."  
  
Abby sat back down. She took the box off the bed and set it on the floor. "I'll give some of these to Eric when he gets home," she promised.  
  
"Why did you break up with Luka?" Maggie asked suddenly.  
  
Abby's face paled. "Mom."  
  
"I just wish you felt you could talk to me, Abby," Maggie said, leaning her head back against the pillow. "I wish you knew you could trust me."  
  
Oh, hell. Guilt. It always worked. "It just-it wasn't working anymore, you know?" Abby said, avoiding her mother's eyes.  
  
Maggie nodded skeptically. "Who broke it off?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You or him. Did you dump him?"  
  
Well.Abby sighed. "No," she said softly. "Well, kind of. I guess I kind of was asking for it."  
  
"What do you mean?" Maggie frowned.  
  
"I-well, I always expected him to break up with me, and I guess.I don't know, I guess it was kind of my fault," Abby stammered.  
  
Maggie looked confused. "Pardon?"  
  
There were those tears again. What was wrong with her? "He, um.he said I was always depressed and that I don't know what I want." Maggie nodded, waiting for her to continue. "He complained that I always run to Carter and he.well, he said he didn't know how to help me, and I said I didn't want help."  
  
"Was he right?"  
  
Abby was taken aback. "Right?" she said angrily.  
  
"Well, it just seems to me," Maggie began thoughtfully, "I mean, I haven't been here all that long, and I know this has all been very hard on you, but, Abby, I haven't seen you smile in-in years, maybe."  
  
Abby frowned. "I smile."  
  
Maggie gave her a withering look, and gestured at her face. "Really?"  
  
She sighed. "I haven't had a very easy time of it, Mom," she managed.  
  
"I know," Maggie said sadly. "And I might have-Abby, I know I wasn't a very good mother. You deserved better than me, but-you can't dwell on that your whole life."  
  
"It's not all you," Abby said, shaking her head and looking down at her hands.  
  
Maggie let out a deep breath. "Abby, I think you need to talk to someone. I really do. Because I don't think you want to be unhappy your whole life."  
  
Abby ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
Not an answer Maggie liked hearing. "What do you mean, you don't know?"  
  
She met her mother's eyes, and the tears slid down her cheeks. "I don't know," Abby repeated, her voice breaking. "Luka's right-I don't know how to be happy. I'm afraid of it. I mean, every time I am happy, or I think I'm happy, I mess it up."  
  
"Oh, Abby," Maggie said sadly.  
  
"If Luka knew me," she continued shakily. "If he really knew me, knew who I was, knew everything, he'd hate me. And I'm so afraid of that," she finished in a whisper.  
  
"He wouldn't hate you," Maggie told her intensely. "You trick yourself into thinking that, Abby. You tell yourself that you have to be unhappy, that for some reason you deserve it." Her mother the mind reader. "You underestimate people, and you underestimate yourself."  
  
She shook her head tearfully. "If I told Luka I had an abortion," she choked. "If he-if he knew.Mom, he loved those kids so much! He'd hate me. And if he knew I was an alcoholic."  
  
"Abby, if you're not honest with yourself, and with him, then you will never be happy," Maggie said, her voice gentler now. "If he hates you because you had an abortion, then, well, he's not the right one for you to be with. He doesn't deserve you then. And if he judges you because ten years ago, you were an alcoholic, you need to find someone who loves you unconditionally. But if he does love you, then something like that won't matter. And you'll never know if you don't try."  
  
Abby stared up at the ceiling, shoulders shaking. "I just get so scared," she managed, her voice thin and weak. "He's a good person, and I'm-I'm not."  
  
"Why, Abby?" Maggie asked, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "Why are you not a good person?" Abby bit her lip, unable to answer. "Sweetheart, you are a wonderful person. You took care of your brother when I didn't. You're a nurse-you help people. You're taking care of me right now-you've always taken care of me. You do deserve the great things in life, Abby, you just have to be willing to accept them."  
  
It would be easier to just nod, and say she would in the future, and hug her mother, but-they weren't going to be having too many more of these conversations, so, "I just can't," Abby sobbed, burying her face in her hands.  
  
"No, you just won't let yourself," Maggie clarified.  
  
"I've never forgiven myself for killing that baby," Abby cried. "How could Luka? How could anyone? If I can't forgive myself, than how could anyone else?"  
  
"Sometimes it's harder to forgive yourself than it is to forgive anyone else," Maggie reminded her. "You are harder on yourself than anyone I've ever met, Abby." She laughed bitterly. "God would give himself more of a break."  
  
"I killed my baby," Abby said. "I killed my baby."  
  
"No," Maggie said firmly. "You made a choice, based on what you thought was best. And everyone regrets some choices. You can't spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over it."  
  
Well-she could. She nodded weakly, trying to push the tears from her eyes.  
  
"Oh, Abby," her mother said, reaching out her arms. Like a little girl, Abby climbed onto the bed and crawled into her mother's embrace, weeping into her mother's pajama top. "You can't hold onto things forever. Sometimes, you just have to let go. You can't keep the pain in your heart forever, because it will eat away at you, Abby." She stroked her hair, holding her tightly. "Sometimes you have to let go."  
  
"Oh, Mom," Abby sobbed, clinging to her mother. "It's just so unfair. I don't want you to die."  
  
"No," Maggie said thoughtfully. "But I'm ready for it. I've come to accept it."  
  
"But I've just started really getting to know you, Mom," she wept, looking at her mother with heartbroken eyes. "I wish I'd." She took a shaky breath. "I wish I'd known you sooner."  
  
"Another thing you can't regret, Abby," Maggie said firmly, smiling sadly. "That's another thing you can't dwell on." She sighed. "Will you talk to Luka? Just talk to him. Please."  
  
Abby nodded. "I love you," she whispered.  
  
"I love you, too," Maggie said, kissing Abby's head tenderly. "I've always loved you."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Maggie fell asleep after that conversation, and Abby sat up next to her, holding her hand and watching her chest rise and fall. A little after midnight, it suddenly stopped. Abby carefully disentangled her hand, then reached over to check her mother's pulse.  
  
There was none.  
  
She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears, then leaned over and gently kissed her mother's cheek. In silence, she turned off the light next to the bed, then went to her own room and, in numb  
  
exhaustion, fell asleep.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone." --Harriet Beecher Stowe  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
  
Part IV eventually...Please send feedback!!!  
  
Alyssa 


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